Charity (56 page)

‘You’re a bit of a dark horse,’ Toby said, throwing himself down on the opposite settee and helping himself to the largest of the cream cakes. ‘Were you his mistress?’

‘Use a plate please, Toby,’ Charity said, handing him one. ‘Don’t drop cream on the settee.’

‘Don’t change the subject,’ Toby said, as always picking up on an undercurrent. ‘Were you?’

‘I loved him, if that’s what you mean.’ Charity had always intended to tell them about this one day, but she hadn’t expected it to come up now. ‘But it didn’t work out.’

‘How frightfully romantic,’ Prue said, leaning forward to grab a cake. ‘Have you been pining for him ever since? Is that why you haven’t got a boyfriend now?’

‘Uncle Stephen’s got a girlfriend,’ James piped up.

Instantly everyone looked at him.

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Prue said.

‘You kiss girlfriends, don’t you?’ James went on, undeterred. ‘Well I saw him kissing Nurse Giles.’

Toby, Prue and Charity all roared with laughter.

‘Why is it funny?’ James said, his blue eyes wide with innocence. ‘When I told Uncle Geoff, he said maybe that was what made Uncle more animal.’

Another roar of laughter and James was indignant now.

‘Do you think he said “amenable”?’ Charity spluttered with laughter.

‘He might have. I’m not sure. Anyway I did see them kissing. I was looking through his window and there they were.’

Charity hugged this snippet of information to herself. Both Toby and Prue had mentioned odd things too that led her to believe the nurse and the colonel were now lovers. It was an obscene thought, but one she often giggled over with Rita in the office, and it brought back nice memories of Grandmother claiming the woman was a maneater.

‘Tell me,’ Charity said a little later. ‘Does your uncle know you see me from time to time?’

Toby shrugged and looked at Prue.

‘He must do,’ Prue said, blushing a little. ‘But we’ve never actually said.’

‘I have,’ James piped up. ‘I told him you took me to the pictures at half-term and bought me a cricket bat.’

‘We told you to keep quiet about that,’ Toby said, cuffing his brother round the ear.

‘I’m not telling lies,’ James said. ‘Uncle was bowling balls to me at Studley and he asked where I got the bat because it was a good one. I had to tell him.’

‘Quite right too,’ Charity said.

‘He didn’t say anything to us,’ Prue said. ‘He must’ve decided to ignore it. He never asks where we go when we come up here to see James. Sometimes I think he’s glad to see the back of us.’

‘He’s probably having it off with Nurse Giles,’ Toby said, then roared with laughter. ‘Anyway, I tell Margaret we see you. She’s all for it.’

The afternoon passed too quickly. Prue told Charity about her boyfriend Tim, who apparently had the brains of Einstein and the looks of Sean Connery. While Prue was in the bathroom Toby said he might have brains but he had terminal acne and he was a weed.

Toby told her about his driving lessons and said Uncle Stephen was going to buy him a sports car next year when he went to Sandhurst. All James could come up with was that he took a blackbird’s nest into school for the nature table.

It was only when Charity had returned from seeing them off at the bus stop that a feeling of melancholy came over her. Without them the flat felt very empty and Prue’s question about why she didn’t have a boyfriend prickled at her.

Work had become her love, new contracts taking the place of passion. Men had come and gone; for brief moments they’d added zest to her life, like seasoning on a meal, but she’d never let anyone get close enough to become more.

The rain had stopped and the sun was making the tiles out on the balcony steam. Charity opened the doors and stepped outside, leaning on the railings.

People said she’d changed and grown hard. But she had to be tough with both her employees and the companies she dealt with because there was too much at stake for sentimentality. Yet out there in London other girls were going to rock concerts, wild all-night clubs and pop festivals. They wore beaded Indian smocks, velvet loons, painted flowers on their faces and stayed up all night smoking pot. Love and fun was everything to them.

In her wardrobe there were Ossie Clark evening dresses, Jaeger suits and many Mary Quant dresses, all so smart and even glamorous, but had she slipped into a kind of early middle age?

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Charity murmured.

She had so much – a successful business, beautiful clothes, now this smart flat – and she remembered only too well what it was like to be poor and defenceless. Maybe material things wouldn’t give her the kind of sweet moments of bliss she’d felt when she held Daniel in her arms, or bring back the joy of first love. But it beat the desolation of heartbreak, of being rejected because she was a poor kitchen maid.

‘Hi there.’ Rita came bounding out of the back office as Charity arrived for work on Monday. ‘Settled in OK? How were the kids?’

‘The kids were wonderful, the flat looks like home. How about yours?’

‘I felt a bit lonely last night when Simon cleared off,’ Rita admitted. ‘I suppose we’ll both have to get used to having no one around. Anyway I want you to come to dinner next weekend. You haven’t met Simon properly and he’s got a nice friend.’

Charity pulled a face.

‘Don’t look like that, he’s lovely!’

‘You said that about the last gargoyle you presented me with. I’d like to meet Simon and find out if he’s all he’s cracked up to be, but I hate being foisted on to strangers.’

‘How on earth can anyone please you?’ Rita put her hands on her hips and glared at Charity. ‘Dorothy I understand. She’s only interested in the size of men’s wallets. I don’t know what you want.’

‘Love,’ Charity grinned. ‘But it just doesn’t happen to me. Anyway let’s get off this subject, there’s work to do.’

The new office seemed huge in comparison to the old one. A small reception area behind the big plate-glass window held comfortable modern chairs and a smart Italian black desk where Rita worked as office manager. Behind this three girls typed and manned the office machinery.

Charity’s office was upstairs overlooking the King’s Road. This was where she interviewed both promotion girls and prospective clients.

It was a far cry from Fulham Road in many ways. The soft grey carpet was expensive Wilton, the pink décor done by a professional decorator. They even had a proper kitchen now, with ice in the fridge for important clients’ drinks.

Stratton Promotions was becoming well known in London. Charity had carved out a niche for herself by getting the right girls, keeping their loyalty by fairness, good jobs and paying them better than anyone else. But though the office was smarter, the contracts bigger and so much more money at stake, all the fundamental things remained the same. Rita might have passed on the more mundane typing, filing and checking time sheets, but she still handled the wages, bookkeeping and typing the contracts. Charity spent more time away from the office, seeing clients and checking that her girls were working properly, but she still followed up every new enquiry and attended all the briefings with her girls so she knew exactly what was expected of them. And there were still moments of blind panic when cheques didn’t arrive in time to pay wages and the rent.

‘Martin Bell would like to see you,’ Rita said over the intercom later that morning. ‘He’s in the office now.’

‘Send him right up.’ Charity jumped up from her desk to meet him.

She felt a surge of happiness. It had been ages since she last had time to see Marjorie and Martin. Now they’d sold Bell’s Diner in Hammersmith and moved out to Hertfordshire, Charity had grown used to a quick phone call once every six months.

She ran to the door, just as Martin came up the stairs.

He looked just the same: short and tubby, his bald spot shining.

‘Oh Martin,’ she gasped. ‘It’s so good to see you. How are you?’

‘Doing very well,’ he grinned, kissing her cheek. ‘And it looks as if you are too.’

Only then did Charity notice his expensive suit.

‘This is a bit flash for you,’ she said, playfully pulling on the revers. ‘Had a pools win?’

‘Sort of.’ He smiled. ‘Let’s talk about it.’

Over coffee Martin talked. He had lost still more hair, his face had a few more lines, but there was a new excitement in his voice, and greater confidence than he’d ever shown in the days when Charity worked as his waitress.

He spoke of expanding the frozen food business he’d started with just vegetables, into pies, hamburgers and sausages.

‘The frozen food company has done fabulous business,’ he said. ‘Of course we didn’t know when we started it that ordinary people would start buying freezers to have at home. We thought we’d only be supplying restaurants, canteens and hospitals. But suddenly business increased, the first frozen food shops started opening and supermarkets are stocking more and more lines. Now the sky’s the limit.’

‘Wonderful.’ Charity was so pleased for him and Marjorie. She remembered how hard they had always worked. ‘You deserve it. How’s Marjorie coping with money and success?’

‘As if born to it,’ Martin beamed. ‘She’s a lady of leisure now, spending her time reading glossy magazines and thinking up ways to spend our money. She’s really happy.’

‘What brought you up here today then?’ Charity asked.

‘To see you, of course – and to put some business your way.’

‘Really?’ Charity was happy just to see him, but the offer of business was even better.

‘I’ve bought a small share in a domestic freezer business,’ Martin explained. ‘Of course I know nothing about freezers themselves, only the grub you put in them, but it was suggested we got a few girls in major appliance shops to push them and I immediately thought of you.’

‘My girls can sell anything.’ Charity instantly switched from mere friend to saleswoman. ‘Tell me more.’

They talked for some time, first the business, then switching back to more personal things. Finally Martin had to go.

As he was about to descend the stairs, he turned to her. ‘We’re so bloody proud of you,’ he said. ‘When I think what you’ve been through, and now you’ve got all this! But keep freezer and frozen food companies in mind. There’s a revolution coming in food, and if you get in on the ground floor with it, you’ll go right to the top.’

‘You always were so good to me.’ Charity hugged him. ‘Thanks for the leads. I’ll be on to them like a bloodhound. And I’ll come and see you and Marjorie soon.’

Chapter Twenty-Six

1973

Charity leapt out of her Mini. She was late for an appointment with Martin Bell and although he would understand, Charity believed in punctuality.

She felt great, even though it was a grey, cold March day. She had returned just a few days earlier from a holiday in Florida with Dorothy, complete with a golden tan and a curly perm Dot had insisted on. But better still, she had an idea for Martin that could be brilliant for both of them.

Dorothy’s thirtieth birthday party was the main reason Charity had gone to Florida. Her friend hadn’t changed much: she moaned about her age, then advertised it by throwing an extravagant party. Of course there was a rich man in the background who paid the rent on her sumptuous apartment in Miami, and her Cadillac was a present from another, and her modelling still brought in enough work to keep her very comfortably. It had been a wonderful holiday, long lazy days on the beach, parties and fun; they’d even been to Disneyland like a couple of kids. Dorothy was hard with men, she’d grown even more self-centred, but alone with Charity it was just like their old flat-sharing days, giggling and gossiping till the early hours.

Charity shivered and clutched her black rabbit coat round her tighter as the cold wind caught her. She just hoped Martin was as impressed with her idea as she was and went for it. Things were getting a bit tight in London.

Property prices had gone sky high in the last year, inflation was out of control and she sensed that the economy was about to take a slide into a depression. For the moment Charity was holding her own, still taking a large slice of the pie in promotions work, but if the economy were to take a nose dive, she knew the first hit would be small businesses like hers.

Charity was twenty-eight now, still slender in size ten clothes, but curvier now than she had been as a girl. Unlike Dorothy who worried about her increasing age because it meant less modelling work for her, Charity was glad of maturity because in her business it meant she was taken more seriously.

Not that she was feeling mature today. Her new curly perm made her feel ridiculously young and giggly and she thought she might persuade Rita to go out somewhere tonight.

As Charity turned into King’s Road she waved to Carla, the owner of the boutique, who was dressing her window and paused just long enough to admire the pale pink spring suit she was arranging.

‘Good morning Miss Stratton,’ Jaquintha put her phone down as Charity swept in. ‘Mr Bell’s here, he’s waiting in your office. I gave him some coffee.’

Rita was tucked away in her own office upstairs now. This new receptionist was nineteen, a small pretty brunette straight out of secretarial college. She had only been with them for a few months but she was shaping up well.

‘Thank you, Jaquintha.’ Charity smiled at the girl, noting immediately that she was looking pale. ‘What’s the matter?’

Jaquintha blushed.

‘Just a tummy ache,’ she said in a low voice. ‘It’s … you know.’

Charity leaned closer over the desk.

‘Go and take a couple of aspirin,’ she suggested. ‘If it doesn’t go within an hour get one of the other girls to cover for you and go home.’

Charity had learned to be tough with both employees and clients over the years, otherwise they took advantage. But her sympathetic nature was easily tugged, especially by the young and vulnerable.

‘Sorry to keep you waiting, Martin,’ she said as she walked into her office. ‘The traffic’s appalling.’

Martin got up and kissed her cheek.

‘For you I’d wait for ever,’ he said. ‘But it’s only five minutes. You look fantastic, Charity, the holiday did you good. I like the hair too. It makes you look truly angelic.’